Page 97 of Close Quarter
So very young. But not at all naive, despite his flippancy. Silas studied the man who held his hand. His fae blood had sharpened his features, coppered his hair, but there was something still so very human about him, most likely that sense of cocky assuredness.
It might save them both. "Your thoughts?"
Rhys tapped his water glass and chuckled.
"You won't like it."
"Probably not."
"We hunt now. During the day." He picked up his water glass and sipped. "And if we don't find them, then we wait in hiding and pick them off as they hunt us."
He pulled his hand from Rhys's. "We have no idea where their--"
Rhys had enough manners not to smirk, not to gloat. He sat there, as calm as any Stoic.
Silas stood. Of course they knew where the soulless's lair was. It was on the boat. Probably internal, likely deep in the bowels. Hunting alone, it had always been too dangerous to confront the soulless in their stronghold. He walked to the rail and stared down at the twirling white ripples along the side of the hull.
Behind him, a chair scraped across the deck.
Rhys wrapped his arms around Silas, kissed the back of his neck. Pine and sea grass. "Stop berating yourself."
There was no point in asking how Rhys knew his thoughts. Predictable. Constant. Like the little cyclones of white that spun out from the boat to be lost in the churn of the ocean waves. He did not bend into Rhys's embrace. "I am better than this."
"I know." Rhys didn't let go. "I remember."
Hades.Those memories. "For that I am sorry.
I should have never--" Rhys's fingers pressed against his lips, blocking the words. He knew the taste of that skin.
"Let's find the fucker and put a stake through his heart. Or a sword. Or whatever."
Silas had to blink back the salt spray when he opened his eyes. "It's a good plan. I'm not sure I would have thought of it."
He felt Rhys's laugh. "Good. Then the bastard won't expect it, will he?"
No. While Anaxandros knew him, the soulless did not know Rhys. Deep within, the shuttered spark of hope flared to life. Minerva bless them both with wisdom and strength.
They were going to need it.
****
Coffee. Rhys needed coffee to get his mind in gear. Not just the drip-brewed stuff at the buffet, but a nice, hot double shot of espresso. Thankfully, the boat had a coffee bar by the library.
He glanced back and grabbed Silas's hand.
Damn everyone else on the ship if they had an issue. Last thing he needed was to lose Silas to the crowd around them. Midafternoon seemed to be a very popular time to roam the decks.
Silas wasn't well. Worse, he didn't seem to notice his ill health. Pale and shaky, he wasn't putting much into his glamour, given the looks he was garnering. Rhys attempted to push element toward Silas, but he couldn't concentrate on that while walking.
Silas's mind certainly wasn't in the game.
Not that Rhys blamed him. Flashes of memories not his own had been intruding into his thoughts over the past day. Scarred didn't even begin to express Silas's mental state.
But there was a will so strong there--strength Rhys doubted he could match, not in the face of that much pain for that long.
He understood now how someone could rip apart a vampire. He certainly had that desire.
"Two double-shot cappuccinos to go, please."
